Chalk
by wegotmonobaby
Summary: Vetinari takes Vimes to the Ramtops to hash out a chalk deal. And hopefully, seduce him. WIP, T now, M eventually. I've played with cannon a bit - Vimes is still Commander, Carrot Captain.


The Patrician looked out across the city with a thin smile. It was fast approaching three am, but the man had long past given up on sleep. His city didn't sleep either, and so he was in good company. He let his gaze slide over the recognisable piles of brick he had known his whole life, feeling more relaxed than he ever managed in repose. Half formed thoughts about what people did with their time flitted around his brain as he rested slim, delicate fingers against the frigid glass. They obviously differed much from his own thoughts, his current thoughts. The coming day, his paperwork, Lord Rust's recent declaration of war on the Assassins, Drumknott's birthday. He never thought of nothing. And he always thought of something. And as always, something was Sam.

His smile grew very, very slightly, then turned abruptly into a frown. He hated himself for allowing this. His iron will came to nothing when that man was involved. The chances he had given him! The allowances, the privileges! The fact that he had no-one to blame for his current situation did not escape him, and only served to make him angry. Impatient, he turned away from the window, his earlier solace only serving to infuriate him now. His glass, half filled with water, mocked him from the polished mahogany of his table. The cut crystal yet another reminder of his state of office, his superiority. He grabbed the glass in a fit of temper that would have surprised anyone who had ever met him, and threw it with force into the unlit fire. Of course he was superior! He was the leader of the city! He yanked his chair out from under the table, and half fell, half sat on the hard polished wood, back to the city.

He had left his cane in the bedroom, hobbled down here unaided, something he now regretted as he felt utterly exhausted. His position had never bothered him before. In the early days, his need for power, his thirst to make the world better had served him well. Kept him sane, made difficult decisions easier to handle. The responsibility something he craved rather than abhorred. And that had not changed, not after being imprisoned, after numerous attempts on his life, after his instigation of the many Guilds. But now, because of one man, one insignificant, jumped up policeman who believed himself above Vetinari's rule, that had changed, completely. He craved nothing more than a simple life, away from all the politics and rules, where he would be free to do exactly as he wished, and damn the consequences. The Patrician didn't handle unrequited love as well as he thought he would, it seemed. This time, his smile was wry. He pulled himself up with some difficulty on the edge of the table, and made his way slowly back to his bedroom to stare at the ceiling, listening to the soft sounds of his broken glass being cleared away. There would be no trace later that day, of anything.

The morning was bright and crisp. Sam looked out over the sleeping dragons, listened to the soft sounds of sleep coming from his wife. He smiled widely, happier in that moment than he had been for weeks. The Watch were now as they should be, a respected body of law in the City, and, knock wood, things had been quiet for a couple of weeks now. He knew he should give in to his urge to get back into bed and have a lie-in, as mornings with his wife were becoming more and more scarce, but his need for food over ruled this and he made his way sleepily downstairs in his underclothes. Willikins was up to serve breakfast, and the two men shared a morning grunt as the butler poured Vimes some tea, slopped porridge in a bowl and handed him his mail in one long motion. Vimes wrinkled his nose at the porridge, and pushed it away, making plans to visit Harga's to get some real breakfast before heading in to work.

'Sir, Lady Sybil reminded me to remind you that porridge is delicious and good for you, and that she has had a word with a Mr. Harga, and that you have been warned.' Vimes laughed, and shook his head in disbelief.

'She's a sly woman, that Sybil. Ok, you can tell her I ate my porridge like a good boy.' 'Very good, Sir,' the butler replied, ladling another spoonful into the already full bowl. Vimes grimaced, but ate anyway.

After dressing, taking care of his mail, and forcing Willikins to leave him to shave himself, he leaned in to check on Sybil. She was still sleeping, so after pressing a kiss to her forehead, he left her be. He was whistling as he entered the Watchhouse, making everyone present immediately on edge.

'Relax! It's a lovely morning. So lovely, in fact, that you should go out on patrol, maybe?' The hint was enough for the most dim of the Watch members, and the younger ones present fled. Making his way up to his office, he paused to yell a coffee request at Nobby, before letting himself in and greeting Carrot. Who ruined his good mood immediately with a memo.

'What does he bloody want now?' Vimes grumbled, re-reading the Patrician's brief note. 'Nothing bad's happened for weeks now.'

'Well, there were several robberies, Sir. And four murders, and the desecration of the gnome museum on Pelham Street, and-'

'Yes Carrot, thank you, I meant nothing major.'

'Well Sir, I do think that the gnomes-'

'Yes, ok, point taken, Carrot, but what can he want specifically, is what I meant.'

'I don't know Sir. But he did say he wanted to see you as soon as you become available. I wouldn't keep him waiting, if I were you.'

'Because I've never dealt with Vetinari before, have I? No, no, I know I have, I was-I'm just going to go and see him, ok?' Muttering about sarcasm, Vimes left, the spring in his step replaced with a gloomy drag.

He tried unsuccessfully to get Angua to allow him to assist on an unlicensed theft, but it was clear that the women in his life had a personal vendetta against him that morning, and he arrived at the Palace far too quickly. Drumknott greeted him with a far away expression, and a softly spoken 'back so soon, Your Grace?' Vimes smiled and nodded, his irritation at being greeted so formally displaced by Drumknott's odd behaviour. It seemed only moments later that he was allowed through to the Patrician's office, which was also quite unusual.

'Ah, Sir Samuel, so good of you to come.' The Patrician smiled, and Sam knew then that this was bad. Awful, even.

'I have some news. Do you know anything of The Ramtops?' 'Erm, nosir. Well, they're mountainous?'

'Quite, Sir Samuel, quite. They are located from the Hub to the Rim, and are incredibly magical. As in, they contain a large amount of natural magic. This, however, is not the reason for our visit.'

'Our visit, Sire? As in, Ankh-Morpork's visit?'

'Yes, Sir Samuel, but more specifically, our visit. As in, the visit of the Patrician and The Duke Of Ankh.'

Sam didn't know how to process this, and remained carefully blank. Havelock's mouth twitched very slightly, but other than that, the man remained as blank.

'They have a vast reserve of chalk. In, well, Chalk. And we were hoping to strengthen their willingness to give some of that chalk to us. And they will only do that if you and I go there and ask. In person.'

Sam's face looked as though it was carved out of wood, and he swallowed with some difficulty.

'And it has to be me sir? Even after Uberwald?'

'I'm afraid so, Sir Samuel. These things have to be done. We should be back within the week, two at most. I've already informed Sybil, and she will be remaining here.'

Sam nodded, and sighed. Audibly. The Patrician let it slip, but raised one eyebrow. 'Sorrysir. Yessir.'

'If you would report to me tomorrow morning? Eight am sharp, please. Oh, Captain Carrot will be taking on the role of Commander in your absence. Now, if there's nothing else? Don't let me detain you.'

Sam left the office, head reeling, and completely missed Drumknott's knowing look. He walked blindly down the stairs, trying to get his head around spending that length of time with Havelock Vetinari, and made his way absently back to the Watchhouse.

Havelock watched him go from the window. Oh, he knew he was being a fool. An old fool. But when the request had come for the personal meeting, he realised he couldn't have planned a better excuse. He smiled, and leaving the window and Sam, went to oversee his packing.


End file.
